


Fever and Family

by wine_and_song_and_stars



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Actually lots of hugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I just love Loki so much, Loki (Marvel) Gets a Hug, Sick!Loki, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wine_and_song_and_stars/pseuds/wine_and_song_and_stars
Summary: Loki has caught the flu and as the illness overtakes him, so does guilt for his past crimes. Luckily, his family refuses to leave him to suffer alone. Set about a year after Loki’s trial in “Bargaining” by Proantagonist, so before that story's epilogue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bargaining](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108212) by [proantagonist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proantagonist/pseuds/proantagonist). 



> This fic is based in the “Bargaining” universe. If you haven’t read that incredible piece, I cannot recommend it highly enough! Also, it will help with context for this one and you won’t risk any spoilers. 
> 
> This piece is my return to writing fanfic after a loooong hiatus of only reading other amazing works. I haven’t written anything myself since middle school, and now I teach middle school! That being the case, please, please be kind with any feedback.

Loki jerks awake, his eyes wide and body heaving as he slowly realizes that there is not a rough piece of metal impaled through his chest. It was only a dream. Or rather, it was a memory, although that would be a terrible simplification of the scene he has just relived: the worst moments of two time streams joined in horrendous discord until they nearly crushed him.

  
Is that why the pain in his chest isn’t retreating along with the dream? Loki tries to draw in a deep, centering breath, but the effort only leaves him coughing desperately into his pillows. The pain in his chest becomes sharper.

  
“Brother?” Thor slips into the room, his face a mixture of sleep and concern. “Loki? You were crying out. We heard you from down the hall…” Thor trails off as his eyes adjust enough to notice that his little brother is curled into a tight ball and shaking desperately beneath the bedclothes.

  
Loki hears rather than sees his brother kneel down next to the bed, and then a large, warm hand cups his neck while the palm of another comes to rest on his forehead. The comfort of it is unbelievable and he presses his face into Thor’s touch until another fit of coughing rips through his chest. Loki’s hands fly to his sternum to reassure himself that there is still no wound there. He finds none, although the pain is still sharp when he tries to inhale fully.

  
The hand on Loki’s forehead moves to support his shoulder as Thor murmurs, “It’s alright, brother,” and then turns to the door and says much louder, “We need a healer in Prince Loki’s room. He’s come down with fever.”

  
Loki knows that magic will carry Thor’s voice to whoever is awake and can come to their aid. He knows, when he focuses on it, that he is on Asgard, safe in his bed with his brother beside him. But his brain keeps slipping away to a different place. And many different times.

  
“I’m sorry,” Loki gasps as Thor looks down on him, his brow knitted with concern. “I’m sorry. I’m a fool. I’m sorry.” His hands go to his chest again: nothing there. No wound. “I’m sorry…”

  
He’s so cold. Why is he cold? Svartalfheim is hot and dry…but he’s not on Svartalfheim. He is on Asgard. In his room. He tries to focus on reality before it can slip away again.

  
Thor pulls him to his chest until he is cradling Loki against his shoulder. “Shhh, it’s alright, little brother. I’m here. You’re safe.” His hands card through Loki’s hair, and the gesture is so comforting that Loki finds himself beginning to calm a bit.

  
“You’re on Asgard. You’re ill, but we’re going to take care of you. It’s alright.”

  
Loki locks eyes with his brother. “I’m on Asgard,” he repeats back. “You’re alive, and I’m on Asgard. You’re alive…” Loki’s throat becomes tight and hot tears spill out over his already burning cheeks.

  
“Shhh,” Thor soothes again. “I’m right here, brother. And the healer is here to help ease your fever.” Thor lowers Loki back down to the bed and steps aside to make room for the healer to kneel beside her patient. Loki does not take his eyes off Thor. He keeps a tight, though shaky grip on one of his brother’s hands, as though Thor might disappear if he let go.

  
“I’m sorry,” Loki repeats again, as the healer gently rolls him onto his back and presses one cool hand to his forehead and another to his chest. The pain and cold begin to recede as sleep drags him back under. He opens his mouth to apologize again, but Thor shushes him and squeezes his hand.

  
“Sleep, little brother. I’m right here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Loki wakes again, it’s to the cool sensation of something pressed against his forehead. He opens his eyes and the room comes into shaky focus, dark and lit only from the fire crackling in the hearth. Even that small amount of light hurts his eyes and he squeezes them closed.

  
“Hey there,” whispers a gentle voice. A small hand rests against his cheek, and he squints his eyes open again to see Jane perched on the edge of his bed.

  
He opens his mouth to speak, but the inhalation only makes him cough. Jane rests a steady hand on his shoulder until the fit passes, then moves her arm to support his head while bringing a glass of water to his lips with the other.

  
Loki is vaguely aware that he should be trying to take the glass himself, should be supporting his own head, but his pride is lost in the haze of fever, and he feels nothing but gratitude for the blessedly cool water slipping down his throat.

  
“I sent Thor to get some rest,” she tells him as she lowers his head back onto the pillows. “He stayed with you all day, but he just looked so tired…”

  
“Good,” Loki manages to whisper, “thank you, Jane.” He clears his throat to keep from coughing again. “I’m sorry.” He’s not entirely sure why he feels the need to apologize, but it seems appropriate.

  
“Oh Loki, I’m sorry you’re so sick,” Jane says as she picks up the wet cloth that slipped off his head during the coughing fit and presses it to his cheeks. It feels so good against Loki’s burning skin that a small sound slips from his throat. His pride stirs more fully at this admission of weakness, and he squeezes his eyes closed and apologizes again.

  
Jane shushes him gently. “No need to apologize; the flu is awful. You probably caught it when we visited Earth last week.”

  
She dips the cloth in a basin of water beside the bed and then lays it on his forehead again, smoothing his hair back as she does so. Her touch is so much like his mother’s that Loki has to push away a swell of emotion in his chest.

  
“The flu?” he asks to distract himself. “This is a Midgardian illness?”

  
“Oh yeah, and it’s the season for it there, too. Darcy told me everyone in the lab has been getting it.”

  
Loki looks up at her, horrified. “You mean Darcy has suffered with this? Have you, as well?”

  
“Oh sure, plenty of times. Like I said, it’s pretty common.” She smiles kindly when his brows knit together in concern. “It’s never been quite this bad for me, though. The healers think your Jotunn heritage is making it more severe.”

  
Loki’s face relaxes. Normally mention of his parentage sends jolts of guilt through his shoulders, but the thought that he will suffer more than others because of it seems oddly fortunate. “Good. That’s good.” Loki closes his eyes as his head begins to throb from the firelight.

  
Jane notices the slight wince and presses the cloth into his forehead with her palm. “Can you tell me about the symptoms? It looks like you’re in pain.”

  
“…Yes,” Loki admits quietly.

  
Jane waits to see if he will elaborate before asking. “Can you tell me where it hurts? The healers and I can help you more if we know.” She turns to the door behind her and waves a hand, Loki assumes to ask for a healer to be sent in.

  
Loki hesitates, trying to come up with a less melodramatic response, but finally gives in and whispers, “Everywhere….it...it feels as though it radiates from my bones.” He curbs the impulse to apologize for this pathetic explanation. Clearly his silver tongue has decided to take a vacation until the illness recedes.

  
Jane nods sympathetically and squeezes his shoulder. “Fever aches are terrible. How’s your head?” She squeezes her fingers firmly but gently into the muscles at the base of Loki’s neck and a swell of relief ripples through his shoulders.

  
This disarms him enough that he murmurs, “It hurts,” before he can stop himself. He opens his eyes and mouth to apologize again, but she’s looking at him so kindly that all he can see is Frigga.

  
Tears bloom at the corners of Loki’s eyes, and he tries to breath them away, but only succeeds in making himself cough again.

  
Jane moves her hands to the sides of his head. “Oh, Loki,” she sighs kindly. She begins to massage circles into his temples, and a wave of relief seeps through his skull. He didn’t realize he was clenching his jaw, but the muscles release as the throbbing pain from before becomes distant and manageable.

  
“When I have a headache, this helps me feel better,” she explains.

  
“Thank you,” he breathes. And because he can’t think of any more words to communicate how much her kindness means to him, he simply repeats himself. “Thank you.”  
The healer comes in then, and Jane steps aside as the Aesir woman lays her hands once more to his brow and chest. The remaining heat and pain fade, and Loki is pulled again into sleep.

  
He is vaguely aware of Jane’s hand resting on his cheek. “It’ll be alright, Loki,” she whispers. “Just rest.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki isn’t sure how long he sleeps, but each time he wakes up, Thor or Jane is beside him, and each time they press cool cloths against his burning face or wrap him in more blankets to ease his shivering. They hold him close when dreams from the old time stream leave him crying out with guilt and offer him water to soothe his cough.

  
When Jane is at his side, after he is calm, she hums gently and rubs pain-relieving circles into his temples until the healer arrives to send him back to sleep, but as lovely as her presence is, Loki prefers when his brother is beside him.

  
Whenever Loki wakes up, and even sometimes when he is asleep, Thor lifts his little brother until Loki’s head is cradled against his shoulder and holds him to his chest. His hands card through Loki’s hair, just the way Frigga used to soothe him during childhood illnesses. This fills Loki with such overwhelming comfort that he often drifts back to sleep before the healer can even arrive in his room.

  
Loki knows he must be delirious during these moments awake because the tenderness of Jane and Thor’s care only brings him relief and not the shame he often feels when loving attention is given to him. They treat Loki as though he is precious and worth saving, and Loki almost believes it. Something in the back of his mind still reels and rejects that kind of attention outright, but the refusal is minimal when compared to the reassurance he feels knowing his family is close by to care for him until the fever passes.

  
Once when he awakens, he knows he is delirious because he could swear the woman sitting by his bedside is not Jane, but Sif. But that cannot be. Their friendship has grown strong in recent months, but even so, Sif would never cradle his head so gently with one hand while holding a glass of water to his cracked lips. She wouldn’t hold a cool cloth to his cheeks as she called for the healer, and she certainly wouldn’t sing softly and stroke his hair and face until the healer arrived to relieve the aches in his head and limbs.

  
As he slips back into blessed darkness, Loki’s eyes find hers and he supposes that even if he is wrong, he is still grateful to her. “Thank you, Sif,” he breathes, and to his surprise, the smile she gives him doesn’t look at all confused at his mistake.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki knows he is dreaming. He also knows he wants this dream to last as long as possible because although he can still feel the throbbing pain and heat in his bones, his head is resting in his mother’s lap. Frigga is running her strong hands over his forehead and he can _feel_ her. He can smell the earthy, floral scent that lingers on her clothes after tending the garden. Loki knows he is asleep, but he also knows that every moment of his illness is worth this perfect memory, even if it only lasts a minute.

  
“Rest, my sweet,” she intones, and his heart leaps at the sound of her voice. He can hear her so clearly. She moves her hands to stroke his hair, and tears bloom in his eyes at the joy of being under her care again, even in a dream.

  
“Mother,” he whispers, just to say that blessed word. He reaches up a shaking hand to touch her cheek, but as soon as his fingertips brush her face, her smile suddenly fades.

  
“Am I not your mother?” she asks him uncertainly.

  
And before he can respond, Loki watches in horror as his mother’s eyes go blank. Unnaturally dark blood begins to drip from a wound on her upper arm. Loki’s stomach convulses in a way that has nothing to do with his illness. He tries to scream, fights to sit up and take her in his arms, but she is already fading from view. His hands grasp at her clothes, her arms, but she has simply disappeared. His mother is gone and Loki is left alone on the floor of a room full of disconcertingly golden light.

  
Loki finds he is able to sit up. The heat is no longer coming from within him, but from a number of massive torches burning just outside his cell in the dungeon. As he looks around, Loki realizes that the cell across from him is also occupied. A different Loki from a different time stream stands there chuckling at the bodies scattered about the dungeon floor.

  
“Stop it!” Loki screams at the doppelganger across the passage. “Don’t you know our mother has just been taken from us? People are dead! Stop your horrid gloating!”

  
The other Loki purses his lips and stares back at him, his eyes alight with glee. It is the look someone might give right before they tell the punchline to a particularly scandalous joke. Gungir appears in the hand of the other Loki, making Loki himself confused. This isn’t right. This isn’t how the scene in the dungeon plays out…

  
“LOKI!” Thor’s voice booms through the narrow passageway as he comes down the stairs.

  
As Loki crawls toward the cell’s energy barrier to be closer to Thor, he notices his hands have taken on a blue tint. The fever must have finally caused him to shift into his Jotunn form, but the transformation does not bother him until Thor is facing him in his cell. His brother looks down at him, brow furrowed and lips curled in disgust.

  
“Brother!” Loki cries desperately. “Please let me out of here. We have to help mother before the elves reach the vault!” He tries to raise himself higher than his knees but finds that he doesn’t have the strength. The torchlight is growing stronger and the radiant heat makes his head spin.

  
Thor’s face twists even further at Loki’s plea. “You are no brother of mine, frost giant,” he spits, “and she will never be your mother.”

  
Loki gasps back a sob, but before he can reply, he realizes that the energy barrier keeping the other Loki in his cell has vanished, and the villain is advancing on Thor’s back with Gungir raised.

  
“Thor! Run!” he cries helplessly, but it is too late. Thor’s eyes bulge as water begins to bubble up out of his throat. As Loki watches in horror, his brother falls to his knees in the desert.

  
Thor’s eyes fix on Loki as he chokes out, “Why?” and then collapses. The villainous Loki is laughing uproariously, but Loki cannot hear him above the screams ripping from his own throat. The desert sand around him is on fire and all he can do is thrash and scream…

  
“Loki! Brother, please wake up!” Thor’s desperate voice cuts through the horror of the nightmare and Loki jerks awake, his screams turning into a long, painful fit of coughing.

  
Thor scoops Loki up into his arms and holds his brother tightly to his chest even as Loki coughs and gasps for air. Loki’s fingers grasp at Thor’s chest and forearms until he is sure his brother is real and not another trick of the nightmare he has just escaped. He cannot stop trembling. The room is spinning and he is burning and every few moments the dream reality creeps back into the edges of his consciousness and he is crying out again.

  
“Jane, what do we do?”

  
Loki realizes that Jane is also sitting on his bed, her eyes brimming with concern. One of her hands squeezes Thor’s shoulder reassuringly, and the other comes up to soothe Loki’s forehead. Why are her hands so cold? Or perhaps he is still in the desert, burning...

  
She looks at Thor, her expression becoming more resolute. “We make sure he knows that we’re here, and that we are going to stay right here until this passes.” She cups Loki’s face in her hands. “We’re here, Loki,” she tells him firmly, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. “We’re here and we are not going anywhere.”

  
Loki does not understand. They need to run. They need to get as far away from him as possible; he’s burning and will burn them, too. He raises his hands in front of his face, trying to determine if the are still blue in color. “Please go,” he tells them between sobs. “Please don’t let me hurt you anymore. I’m a monster, and you must go!”

  
But they do not go. If anything their grip on him grows tighter.

  
Now Thor’s eyes are filling with tears, and he pulls Loki in closer until their foreheads are pressed together.

  
“Now you listen to me, Loki Odinson. You are my brother. My clever, stupid, wonderful brother, and I will never leave you. I will die holding onto you if I have to, and we will not let this illness steal you away from us. Do you understand me?”

  
Loki squeezes his eyes closed as he tries to parse out what is real and what is the fever playing tricks on his mind. He needs Thor to understand how much danger he’s in. There’s a monster inside of him, and Loki is sure that he’s too weak at the moment to keep it at bay. In fact, he finds he barely has the strength to speak. Why isn’t the desert heat fading?

  
“Do you understand me, Loki?” Thor repeats, pulling his head back so he can look his brother in the eyes. “You are my brother and my advisor and I need you by my side. I need you here with me.” He pauses before adding, “And I need to you to believe me when I tell you that we love you and will never leave you while you are ill, or ever. Do you believe me?”

  
Loki’s vision swims, but his brother’s face remains in focus. He can feel Thor’s arms supporting his shoulders and Jane stroking his forehead and the hair at his temples. Thor lowers him back against the pillows, and he feels the wonder of that cool cloth as one of them uses it to clean the tears from his fiery cheeks. He can feel the desert retreat from his consciousness, although the heat stays constant. He can feel his family there beside him: their presence, their care, and their love. He finds he can’t argue anymore; he knows Thor is telling the truth.

  
“I believe you,” he breathes out before the heat becomes too much and he slips back into darkness.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki’s body feels much cooler as he slides back into consciousness. He makes small movements with his head, trying to get his bearings, but before he can open his eyes, a familiar hand slides in to support his neck and a glass of water is raised to his lips. He has never been so thirsty, and when the glass is removed, he finds he has the breath to ask for more.

  
Loki blinks his eyes open and realizes that he is lying in a bathtub, dressed only in his underthings. Thor kneels beside him, pouring another glass of water from a pitcher.

  
Loki breathes out a sigh. He is still aware of the heat that overwhelmed him before, but it’s muted by the cool water surrounding his body. The relief is tremendous.  
“Thor?” he croaks. He wants further confirmation that this is real and his brother is, if fact, beside him.

  
“Shhhh, just rest, Loki,” Thor murmurs as he cradles Loki’s head again and gives him another long drink. “It’s going to be alright. Your fever--what was the word Jane used?--spiked, and the healers couldn’t bring it down enough to give you relief. Jane suggested we draw you a cool bath.” Thor studies Loki’s face intently as if trying to decide if this was actually a good idea.

  
Loki nods. “Thank you,” he whispers. This doesn’t seem like enough to express the balm of the cold water against his skin, so he adds, “It helps,” and this little statement causes Thor’s face to break into a wide, tired smile.

  
Loki is in a haze enjoying the feel of the cold water around him, but even with his eyes closed he can tell his brother is not feeling the same sense of calm.  
Thor shifts around trying to find some task to keep himself occupied, but once he has set aside the glass of water and folded a towel to slip under Loki’s head as a pillow, he’s out of ideas. He sits restlessly, reaching out occasionally to push a strand of Loki’s hair further back from his face.

  
Loki opens his eyes again and discovers that for the first time in days, he has the presence of mind to find Thor’s actions amusing. His heart swells with gratitude, even for the way Thor is currently fussing over him. “Thank you,” he says again, and his voice is a bit clearer this time.

  
“Is there anything else I can do?” Thor asks hopefully.

  
Loki smiles. Thor always needs to be busy until a problem is completely resolved.

  
“Talk to me?” Loki suggests. His vision is still blurry, but he holds his brother’s gaze as steadily as he can. “When I know someone is nearby, it helps me stay focused on what is real.”

  
Thor nods, and his smile grows as he cups Loki’s cheek with one hand. “Do you remember how Mother used to fuss over us when we would get ill as children? Maybe it was because of her magic, but I remember she could ease all the hurt of a fever just by running her hands through my hair.”

  
“Yes,” Loki agrees, although the tightness of his voice betrays the tears threatening to return as his still-fevered mind thinks about Frigga.

  
Thor’s voice also seems strained. “I was trying to do what she would have done, holding you and caring for you.” He strokes Loki’s wet hair as though demonstrating. “I know it isn’t the same, but…”

  
“I could feel her there, when you did that.” Tears are streaming from Loki’s eyes, and he has no energy to hide them. “I felt like I was back before all the terrible memories, the terrible things I did...” he breaks off, then continues, “Back when I deserved that kind of care and family….”

  
Loki rarely speaks about the alternate timestream anymore. He can tell it pains his brother to look too hard at those strange double memories, so he tries to keep them to himself. He pretends he feels redeemed, the way Thor and Jane and the others say he is, but the guilt still creeps in frequently, especially when he wakes in the night.  
“I wish I could fix it all. Really fix it, I mean. I wish I could take it all back…” Loki’s breath catches and he coughs again. Thor is quick to give him more water, and uses the moment to counter Loki’s desperate words.

  
“Loki, you did fix it. You took it all back. I’m alive, thousands of other people are alive…”

  
“Mother and Father aren’t alive,” mutters Loki as Thor sets the water glass back on the floor. Thor presses his lips together and looks at the ground.

  
“I know. But they would be gone either way. And they died knowing we loved them.” Thor puts extra stress on the word “we,” and that destroys what composure Loki had left. A combination of gratitude and shame blazes up in his chest and escapes out his lips as broken sobs. He can’t decide if he should look at Thor or keep his eyes averted, although Thor gazes intently down at him.

  
“And they gave me my brother back,” Thor says fiercely, cupping Loki’s face in his hands. “My perfect, stupid little brother whom I can’t live without.”

  
Loki reaches up and puts a wet hand to Thor’s cheek. He’s crying too hard to speak, so he just nods firmly. Thor presses his lips together, and then suddenly pulls his brother up and into his arms so that Loki is still sitting in the bath, but his upper body is pressed against Thor’s chest. Thor’s grip is unbreakable, but Loki wouldn’t try to escape it even if he did have the energy. He is still sobbing and realizes from the way his brother’s chest is heaving that Thor is weeping, as well.

  
Loki wraps his arms around his brother’s barrel-like middle and holds him back with all the strength he can muster. His arms begin to shake, but that just makes him squeeze harder. He will never let go. He will never let his brother walk through the world without him, and he knows Thor will do the same.

  
It occurs to him that this knowledge has become stronger than his guilt. If Thor and Jane and even Sif are going to care for him with such attentive selflessness, then he will make himself worthy of that care. He will hold on to them with everything he has, monster though he may have been.

  
Neither of the brothers is sure how long they stay locked together, but slowly Thor’s breathing returns to normal, and then Loki’s arms can’t actually hold the embrace any longer. Loki releases his grip and Thor’s deathlock loosens. He eases Loki back down into the water and adjusts the towel behind his brother’s head.

  
A lightness bubbles up in Loki’s throat as he gazes up at his big brother’s protective expression. He feels so safe and peaceful that he begins to chuckle.

  
Thor’s face relaxes, as well. “What’s the joke?” he asks, smiling affectionately down at his brother.

  
“Your shirt is soaking wet,” Loki giggles. He’s not sure why this is funny. It probably isn’t, but his mind is locking on to any detail that can provide a source for the levity he feels.

  
Thor smiles wider and pulls the fabric away from his chest, trying to air it out. “You wouldn’t remember this, you were too small, but one time when you were sick as a child, you threw up a stomach-full of grapes all over Father’s best tunic.”

  
Loki wipes the last of the tears from his eyes and laughs harder as he pictures the All-father with his shirt full of purple throw-up. “What?” he asks to encourage Thor to keep telling the story. “Why was I eating grapes if I was sick?”

  
Thor grins and launches into the full account. “It was all you would eat! You’d been ill for two days and wouldn’t eat anything but cold grapes, so mother just kept giving them to you, but then…”

  
Thor continues this anecdote, and then moves smoothly into another and then another. Loki closes his eyes and listens to his brother recount different tales of their childhood and the havoc they had caused as adolescents. Thor talks about Odin and Frigga, too, and Loki finds that even these stories bring him more happiness than grief.

  
Loki feels heat begin to creep back into his body as the temperature of the water becomes warmer, but it doesn’t concern him overly much. His family is there with him, and they will care for him until he is well. He opens his eyes once more to lock gazes with his brother, his stupid, wonderful big brother, and then closes them again and lets himself doze off to the sound of Thor’s voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write more of Loki and Sif in this fic, but I thought it interrupted the flow of the original story and I let it go. So here is a nice long scene with them added on at the end! It gestures to Loki/Sif, but neither character is ready for that to happen yet, so why would I push them?

A hand is stroking Loki’s hair and the pleasant sensation helps him slide back into consciousness. Although his body still feels warm, the horrible, radiant heat has abated along with the throbbing pains in his head and limbs. Only a dull ache persists in his back and behind his eyes. He can tell he is no longer in the water, and considers just sliding back into sleep, but something occurs to him that makes him wake more fully: he cannot tell whose hand is currently tracing patterns over his forehead. 

It’s too small and not warm enough to belong to his older brother, but also not delicate and gentle enough to be Jane’s. Loki feels confused, wondering if he is still more fevered than he realizes. When he opens his eyes, though, he is surprised to find Sif perched on the edge of his bed. 

“Welcome back,” she says gently. Loki allows his eyes to linger on her face longer than he normally would, appreciating how straightforward her expressions are. Her smile is small, but full and steady, still reaching her eyes. She is steadfast and genuine and everything he is not. It is beautiful. 

He recovers himself after a moment and pulls one corner of his mouth into a smirk. “Pleased to be here,” he tries to say, but his throat is so dry that he starts coughing on the last word and quickly rolls over onto his side, as much to hide his face at this display of weakness as to keep himself from coughing on his friend. 

Sif rests a hand on his shoulder briefly, then leans over and begins rearranging his pillows. When he finally brings his head back up, Sif has created a little mound against his headboard. 

“Lean back,” she tells him. “It’ll help you sit up a bit.” 

With her help, Loki pulls himself further up on the bed. Sif keeps a steady hand behind his head as he eases back against the pillows. Loki tries not to feel ashamed that this small action takes all the strength he can muster. The worst of the illness seems to have passed, but the days of delirium and fever have left him shaky and weak. He is grateful that Sif pretends not to notice. It is one thing to have Thor behaving protectively towards him, or Jane gazing at him with sympathy shining in her eyes; they are his family, and he knows they will not think less of him for his current frailty. But he could not stand such an expression from Sif. Loki does not think he could look her in the eyes for a long while if he found that kind of pity behind her gaze. 

He reaches out to take the water glass she offers him, but his hands are trembling uncontrollably. Loki squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his hand into a loose fist in frustration, afraid to see Sif’s expression change, but then he feels her guide his hand to rest over hers on the glass. When he opens his eyes, her smile is as steady as ever. She supports the weight of the cup while he guides it to his mouth and takes a long drink. 

“Would you like more?” she asks when the glass is empty. 

He nods, but it feels important to prove to her that he can speak without coughing, so he adds, “Please.” 

She pours him another glass from a pitcher on his bedside table, and they repeat the process with his hand resting on hers. Loki tries to ignore the way her hand feels against his palm. Her fingers are scarred and strong, but the skin is so soft. It would be wonderful to hold them in a different circumstance….

Norns, he needs to stop this. She is his friend, and he is grateful for that bond. He dares not wish for anything else. 

As he finishes the second cup of water, she breaks the contact between their hands to set the glass beside his bed. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. Talking is easier now, and he starts to wonder nervously what else he should say to her. Will she even stay now that he’s awake, or will she just fetch Jane or Thor? 

“Of course,” she says simply, and he’s surprised that her hand comes back up to smooth through his hair. She presses the backs of her fingers against his cheek and forehead, checking his temperature as she asks, “Are you in any pain?” 

He is taken aback by the straightforward way she asks, as though she were asking if he’d eaten dinner yet. He considers lying and telling her that he is fine, but he remembers the promise he made himself earlier. If she is giving him the gift of being forthright with her questions, he owes her the same candor in his answers. 

“My head, and the muscles in my shoulders still ache.” He fights to keep the shame of admitting weakness from detering his honesty, and looks into her eyes to counter it. “But this,” he presses his cheek into her hand very slightly, “helps a great deal.” 

Loki’s heart speeds up as he becomes certain he has crossed a line in their friendship, but a moment later Sif adjusts her position on the bed so that she is sitting alongside him, leaning against the headboard. Her expression is softer but still without a trace of pity as she places a pillow on top of her legs. 

“Will you let me keep helping, then?”

Loki looks up at her uncertainly, but nods. She nods in return, and moves her hands beneath his shoulders, guiding and supporting him until his head is resting on the cushion in her lap. 

Loki closes his eyes and tenses for a moment at this unfamiliar arrangement, but he relaxes as she moves her strong hands over his forehead and temples. The pain in his head retreats further, and gratitude once again replaces the fear of letting himself be cared for. Sif seems to note this change in him, and brings one hand to his cheek for a moment before continuing to massage circles into the sore places he hadn’t realized existed above his ears. 

“I’m glad you’ve finally started letting people help you,” Sif says. There isn’t any judgement behind her words, and Loki nods without opening his eyes. 

“It’s still difficult,” he whispers, “and strange to be reliant on anyone other than myself.” He cracks his eyes open to check her response to this admission, but once again her face is unchanged. 

He closes his eyes again and after a moment she replies quietly, “I know. It’s difficult for me to accept help, as well. It’s so important to learn, though. Crucial, in fact.” 

Loki opens his eyes again, surprised by her comparison of the two of them. It’s not so astounding to him that she doesn't like to accept assistance from others; Sif has always been fiercely independent. Rather, it gives him pause to realize that she ever requires help at all, and it stuns him even more that she would tell him so. 

Sif meets his gaze and gives him a small smile as she continues to move her fingers down to his neck. “I’m sure it’s easier to allow your brother to care for you than to allow me, but…” she pauses for a moment and intensifies their eye contact, “Loki, I’m very grateful that you would let me do so.” 

Loki is speechless. Sif feeling gratitude towards him for accepting her care seems an almost laughable reversal of emotion. And yet, he can see the truth of the statement in her face. Unlike Loki, Sif would never purposely lie about anything. 

And so he tries his best to once again return her generosity in kind. “I am very grateful that you would…” he trails off trying to think of a more elegant way to phrase things than “bother,” but his silver tongue seems to be slow to recover from its fever-induced hiatus. “That you are here,” he finishes lamely. He holds her gaze to try to make up for his lack of eloquence. She nods. 

“Of course,” she says again. He closes his eyes and considers that response. Of course, what? Of course she is here? He wonders why that sentiment is surprising to him. They have become close friends over the preceding months, although much of their time is spent arguing how best to advise Thor in his new role as king. Loki cares about Sif, cares about her a great deal. Why did he think she would not return his regard in kind? 

Sif’s hands come to rest on his shoulders. “Do you feel well enough yet to eat something? Jane said to try as soon as you were able.” 

Loki had all but forgotten about food for the last several days, but now that the suggestion has been made, he finds he is ravenously hungry. He opens his eyes to respond, and his stomach growls with perfect timing. This makes him dissolve into a fit of exhausted laughter, and Sif laughs even harder that he is, smiling down at him with so much warmth that Loki feels his chest expand with happiness. 

Sif slides out from under his head and lifts him up so he’s again propped against the mound of pillows. 

“I’ll be back with some food.” She takes his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go and turning to leave. 

“Thank you,” Loki calls to her as she goes, and the audible rumble from his stomach makes them both crack up once more. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, Loki finds himself lying once more with his head in Sif’s lap. He tries to determine exactly how they found themselves back in this position, but the remnants of his fever have flared up, seemingly for one last hurrah, and the resulting haze does not allow him to follow the train of events completely. 

Not long after she left, Sif had returned from the kitchen with a steaming bowl of soup, warm bread, and a small cup full of grapes. 

“I ran into Thor and he insisted you would want these,” she had told him, raising her eyebrow skeptically at the fruit. 

The joke, along with Sif’s continued straightforwardness about helping him, had disarmed Loki enough to allow her to assist him with eating. They repeated the dance from before with her holding the spoon to keep it steady while he kept his hand over hers and brought the warm soup to his mouth. She ripped off pieces of bread, spreading them with butter or dipping them in the broth, and then handed them to him so he could feed himself. Loki even ate all of the grapes. He had forgotten food could taste so satisfying. 

The whole time they had talked quietly, Sif telling him about the goings on in the palace from the last several days, and Loki stretching out his mind, trying to find biting yet playful responses to each anecdote. Most of the events were standard business and Loki would normally have found their telling quite dull, but in these circumstances it was comforting to know that daily life had continued on around him while he was “away,” as Sif phrased it. 

Even after the tray of food was empty, they kept talking, about the events of the city and how best to guide Thor in some of his upcoming choices, until an uncomfortable but now familiar heat began to creep back into Loki’s head. He didn’t want his time with Sif to end, so he tried to hide his discomfort, but eventually his head began to throb harshly. He found it more and more painful to keep his eyes open. 

Sif must have noticed the change, because she suddenly stopped talking and brought the back of her hand to his forehead and cheek as she had earlier. For the first time, Loki saw her brow furrow with worry, but it did not bother him as he would have expected. He pressed his flushed cheek into her palm and smiled, cracking his eyes open. 

“I’m afraid my conversational ability is deteriorating rather quickly.” He had smirked, feeling pleased that he was still capable of this ironic syntax. 

But after that, things had become quite blurry. He remembers Sif saying something kind and clearing the tray from his bed and he can vaguely recall her guiding his head back onto her lap. But Loki is not sure how long it has been resting there, nor where Sif got the magical cold cloth that feels so wonderful when laid against his forehead. He is not sure what it means that her fingertips are trailing over his bare collarbone, but he knows that more than once her gentle touches have caused small sounds to escape from his throat. He wonders if he should feel embarrassed by this. 

“Sif?” he asks hazily. 

“Yes, Loki?” Sif answers quietly, her hands coming to rest on the cloth and pressing it against his forehead. 

Loki is not actually sure why he said her name. He tries to come up with a question that will settle all the uncertainty snaking through his mind while not betraying the perfect comfort she is gifting him. 

“Can we still be friends when I’m well again?” Loki is not sure why this is the question he’s chosen to ask. Of course they are already friends. Or at least comrades in the effort to keep Thor safe and settled on the throne. 

Strangely, Sif seems to understand the question, even if Loki does not. She reaches down and takes one of his hands her hers. “Of course, Loki. I will stay by your side, just as I know you will stay by mine.” 

Loki nods. This seems like a good answer. He squeezes her hand, and brings it into his chest. It feels nice to hold on to something, to hold on to her, and he smiles softly. Sif makes no move to take her hand out of his grip, and she brings the other back to rest on his head. She twirls her fingers in his hair, occasionally pressing her fingertips into his scalp again in comforting circles. 

Despite the heat that has returned to his body, Loki feels stronger. Sleepy and hazy, but stronger nevertheless. The food helped, certainly, but he finds more fortitude in the feeling of safety he has gained with his brother and Jane, which has spread to Sif, as well. She is his friend, a truer friend than he ever deserved to hope for, and he trusts that she will not abandon him almost as much as he trusts his big brother. 

Perhaps in the morning, he will feel well enough to sit for a while in the Queen’s garden. Perhaps Sif will come sit with him, or perhaps not. She will be nearby either way. He smiles at this thought and lets himself fade into a dream garden of trees, flowers, and soft spring breezes. Before he surrenders to sleep completely, he is quite sure he feels a kiss pressed against his forehead, but that is improbable and almost certainly just another facet of his lovely dream.


End file.
